


still beating

by onlyshe



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2, Super Dangan Ronpa 2.5
Genre: Angst, Coma, M/M, Pining, some graphic description of The Arm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29288202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyshe/pseuds/onlyshe
Summary: "He promises himself, promises Komaeda, that he'll be there when he wakes. He'll help him get rid of the dead weight, help him close the door on the past.Part of him wonders if Komaeda will even be able to move on. He's so distant, caught adrift in an endless sea of protective limbo. He can't help him escape the past if Komaeda can't even rendezvous with him in the present."hinata tries to pierce the veil.
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 12
Kudos: 85





	still beating

**Author's Note:**

> "my heart still beats for you - even if you don't feel it."  
> \- still beating, mac demarco
> 
> this is weird, sort of experimental, and for what it's worth, i hope you enjoy :P

_Accessing KOMAEDA, NAGITO…_

_Connection to KOMAEDA, NAGITO's pod deemed successful. ADMIN, please select a command from the menu._

Hinata stares at the monitor, his mouth dry.

_> ADMIN: Initiate psychodive sequence._

_ADMIN has selected INITIATE PYSCHODIVE SEQUENCE. Please press the ENTER key to confirm this is the command you wish to execute._

He presses enter. The black pop-up window in the center of the screen disappears from the screen, and in its place appears himself. Cold red eyes bore straight into his own heterochromatic pair. Hinata starles, still not used to seeing the artificial intelligence reflect him in such a stoic manner.

"I wonder how many times we've tried…" Hinata mumbles, the question tainting the air with something heavy. His own voice, mechanical and detached, slices through the room and recolours it with a twang of despair.

"This will mark attempt number four."

He frowns at Alter Ego. The question was meant to be rhetorical. 

The staunch reminder of his past failures chips away at his initial optimism. 

He casts a quick glance at Komaeda's pod, his gaze softening. Four is a number that teems with luck. Maybe fortune will be on his side — on _their_ sides — and let this attempt end in success. 

Optimism renewed, he whispers a command to Alter Ego and watches as he disappears, the screen blank as it tries to breach Komaeda's mind.

  
_> ADMIN: Access patient diagnostics._

The screen lights up with windows of information. Some of them look official, headed with hospital names and ending with scribbled signatures. Some windows are pictures from his countless hospital visits, somber headshots for patient documentation, others depicting him in his hospital bed hooked up to various machines.

His eyes catch on a health report written by the Future Foundation. It's dated from around the time they were all captured and brought to the island. 

He skims it, eyes watering as the true horror of Komaeda's past begins to sink in. 

His mind crawls with vivid recreations of Komaeda holding a hacksaw, his face screwn up in the same agonizing manner it was in the simulated warehouse. His eyes are alive with the fervor of despair as he severs his nerves. His teeth are plunged far enough into his lips to draw blood, and despite his best attempts, his pained cries still manage to seep from his lips.

Hinata feels nauseous. He forces himself away from the computer and over to Komaeda's side. 

His face is calm, full of peace despite the layers of trauma that conceal his archaic mind. Hinata presses his hand to the lime-stained glass, featherlight fingers skimming the surface. 

He traces the outline of Komaeda's face before trailing down to his arm, his _left_ arm. His interpretation of the amputation job flickers through his mind. 

Enoshima's arm is necrotic. Hinata wonders how long it'll be before his body finally rejects it.

He promises himself, promises Komaeda, that he'll be there when he wakes. He'll help him get rid of the dead weight, help him close the door on the past.

Part of him wonders if Komaeda will even be able to move on. He's so distant, caught adrift in an endless sea of protective limbo. He can't help him escape the past if Komaeda can't even rendezvous with him in the present. 

He walks back over to the computer, his ragged breaths and the clacking of the keys being the only sounds in the otherwise suffocating silence of the hub. 

"Pyschodive sequence initiated."

He has to come back.

  
_NUMBER OF FAILED ATTEMPTS: THIRTEEN_

An unlucky number. He shrugs it off, instructing Alter Ego to run through the motions again.

The silence of the hub haunts him. The entire building itself is intimidating, it's exterior overrun with island fauna and it's interior alive with artificial life. Soft blues and greens radiate from all of the machinery, the dull humming of all the devices only adding to the unsettling ambiance. 

He's never liked the quiet before. 

The Program was hectic, alive with colourful teenagers bustling in the face of death. Quiet moments seemed to be far and few in between. He was always surrounded by his friends, whether it be for a spare afternoon listening to the waves crash against the beach or clashing heads with them in the wake of someone's passing. 

It's weird, suddenly being thrust into a world of calm after dealing with one that reeked of malice.

Moments of quiet unsettle him. He still worries that he'll hear Monokuma's squeaky voice float out of one of the machines at any given moment, pulling at his strings with little regard for his well being.

The small presence in the back of his head seems to agree with his hatred of silence. It makes sense, he supposes, that Kamukura's pursuit of 'entertainment' would lead him to hate the quiet. He was always surrounded by the sounds of terror, critically revelling in the hellish symphonies of despair. His life was scored by a soundtrack of incessant wailing. It would only make sense for him to miss his blanket of agonizing white noise.

Now, the endless stretch of silence imprisons Hinata. It traps him in his thoughts whenever he isn't busy checking up on his comatose friend, ensnaring him in a rapidly spiralling chain of thought. 

The quiet has led him to hate the sound of his own voice. It's always much too loud, his criticisms and self-deprecating tones echoing brilliantly in both his head and in the quiet of the room.

"Sequence failed. Retry?"

  
He's lonely. 

He tries not to mind the bitter reality of such a fact despite the fact that visitors come so far and few in between. All he has is Komaeda and Alter Ego to entertain him. 

One is unresponsive and the other is too inhumane to properly humour him in conversation. It's pathetic, really, how he spends his every waking hour suffering in isolation. He chooses to bide his time in solitude, and he can no longer tell if it's the right choice to make.

Everyday, he misses out on rebuilding broken bonds with his friends in favour of weeping in front of a computer. His skin has grown dry and grey, all of the artificial light siphoning the life from his skin. Outside, the sun swelters and shines bright. The thought of basking in its healing rays makes him sick.

Instead, he soaks up the harsh white light from the computer as he waits for Alter Ego to come back. He tries not to entertain the thought of leaving the hub. It always makes him sad to think that the other islanders seem too busy to squeeze seeing him into their schedules.

He supposes he can't blame them, though. If he were in their shoes, the ruined building would be the last place he would want to go.

The only visitor he really has is Sonia. She always sports an armful of snacks from the market and a woven basket full of leftovers from mealtimes. 

Something about her nauseates him.

She is the epitome of brilliance, making the most out of a dire situation through organizing events and boosting island morale. All he can do is pick up the pieces of their shattered pasts, trying desperately to make their still-sleeping friend rise from the ashes.

(Hinata nauseates himself. Maybe he's just grown senile, stained with baseless envy.)

All of his talent is put to waste with managing vitals and fruitless attempts at resuscitation. In reality, nobody but him thinks that, but he has become so accustomed to this cycle of self-deprecation that the lines between reality and projected doubt have grown blurred.

Her sapphire eyes always shimmer with worry. Pink lips drip with concerned phrases. Hinata never indulges her. He's too scared to let anybody see into his soul, not when he can hardly stand to look at it himself. 

He's scared he'll crumble before her. It would be unsightly to let himself go before a princess.

(Maybe he's just scared to let anyone in.)

Presently, ornate chopsticks bring udon noodles to his lips. He smiles for the first time in weeks at the taste, his mind spinning fuzzy tales doused with childhood nostalgia as he chews. He wonders if the other islanders have been getting by okay. 

Tsumiki promised to tell him if anyone relapsed or had any other hiccups in their recovery. She has yet to do so, but part of him worries it's because she's too shy to approach him. 

He kicks his feet up on the desk and leans back in his chair. Sonia's fragrance still hangs in the air surrounding him, and he shuts his eyes, breathing in her smell. Memories of simulated summer evenings spent collecting seashells with her waft through his head. He remembers, vividly, how she had tossed one into the sea and watched it skip across the unruly waves. Her soft voice titters, explaining she once saw the leading lady of an old J-Drama try to skip a shell across the sea and wanted to try it for herself.

Selfishly, he tosses a scornful glance in Komaea's direction. Hinata could explore the island and soak up the sun with her — with _everyone_ — if he didn't feel obligated to wait up for him.

If only he would wake up… 

"Sequence failed. Retry?"

He throws the bowl of noodles across the room, and it shatters against the floor. 

"Why won't you just come back to me?"

  
The hydraulic hiss of the pod opening slices through the silence of the hub.

His breath stalls. Komaeda looks angelic, all of the weight off of his shoulders as he sleeps without dreams. He's so light, carefree. Void of all of the negative strings Hinata grew to associate with him.

His milky skin is tinged lime from the internal lighting of the pod. 

A tentative hand reaches out to press against his chest. The contact sends gooseflesh up Hinata's arm, the tips of his fingers barely able to discern the gentle hum of life beneath them. 

Selfishly, he retracts his hand and instead places it against Komaeda's cheek. It's cold, void of any warmth that one would associate with a living human. His face is dry, all of its life leeched away by the artificial lights and temperature regulation of the pod. 

Komaeda is straddling the thin line between life and death yet again it seems. He pulls away from the sleeping boy and turns his attention to the medical trolley parked beside him, all traces of empathy falling away as he snaps on stark-white surgical gloves. 

His chest is still rising and falling. It's a shallow movement, but a movement that is there nonetheless. 

Methodical hands siphon blood from blue veins. His skin is paper thin, the veins on the brink of bursting free from their fleshy cages. Hinata worries that Komaeda's arm will crumble in his grasp, oniony layers of flesh dissolving to reveal green-stained muscle. 

His gaze flicks over to Enoshima's arm. Momentarily, he considers taking the hand in his, slotting his fingers through rotted digits. 

_(A distant memory of Enoshima taking his hand in hers flickers through his mind. Her skin is soft and tender against his calloused palm as she leads him through a blood-stained hallway._

_Her hand isn't soft anymore. None of her expensive lotions could fix that problem now.)_

He pushes those thoughts away, though he still turns and grabs a roll of bandages from the trolley and makes his way around to the other side of the pod, slowly unravelling the old bandages hiding away the brunt of the arm. 

It's disgusting. 

He wonders if Naegi had the courtesy to swap out the bandages before they shoved him into the Program, or if these bandages are the same dressings from when he was captured. His gaze trails down to Komaeda's knees and his thoughts echo the same sentiment. Did Naegi bother to change out the dressings on his knees, or were they the same disgusting wraps from before the Program? 

He supposes he'll worry about his knees another time. After all, getting slashed in the knees by a pair of scissors is a pain so insignificant when stacked against a necrotic self-amputation job.

The stitches joining Enoshima's arm to Komaeda's are jagged and red, the conjoining threads speckled with dried blood and clear pus. Infection seems to be gently playing on the strings. It's nothing short of miraculous that the infection has yet to spread up the rest of Komaeda's arm, solely contained in the small zone that connects life and death.

For now, he ignores it and wraps the arm up in clean bandages, the majority of the greying arm hidden away beneath the polyester.

He rounds back to Komaeda's right and swaps out the IV.

His pulse is dimly present, still beating in his wrist. Tenderly, Hinata rubs circles into the flesh.

Corpses have no pulse. Komaeda's heart is still going, burning with the promise of life.

"Sequence failed. Retry?"

Hinata feels his newfound hope dim at that.

  
"Alter Ego, is it possible to see inside of his head?" Hinata asks. 

All of the pyschodives thus far have been failures. Naturally, he assumed he would be able to get a glimpse into whatever world Komaeda was trapped in, but his patience is wearing thin. How much longer can he handle the same tinny voice alerting him to failure? How much longer can he last without being able to hear his voice?

He wants to see him now.

The AI materializes on the screen, "It would be an infringement of the patient's privacy to allow you to view the video-feed of his stratospherical life."

He purses his lips, clawing desperately at any fragment of hope.

"If— _when_ we break through, will it be possible to monitor him then?"

Alter Ego's voice — his own voice — replies, cold and unfeeling.

"No."

His voice cracks from the intensity of his emotions. "I see…"

"Shall I launch another pyschodive?" presses the AI. 

Hinata wants to punch the monitor, sink his fist straight through the glass and watch as his own face dissolves into a sea of black. 

Instead, he sighs and leans back in his chair. 

"No, it's… fine. I've dealt with enough heartbreak for one day." He laughs mirthlessly, and the empty sentiment is lost on the AI as it nods and fades from the screen.

  
Hinata stopped communicating verbally with Alter Ego.

He can't stand the sound of his own voice reminding him of failure.

The console beeps, signifying yet another failed attempt.

  
There is a gentle _whir_ and the sound of the glass door clicking open. A gust of chilly air floats out of the opened pod and hits Hinata square in the face. 

He can only stare down at Komaeda's sleeping figure, his heart laden with sorrow. 

He looks so peaceful. Hinata worries that this is how he will die, his face maintaining the same eerie serenity as he slips unnoticed through the veil that separates life from death. 

The heart monitor hooked up to the pod tells him that Komaeda is stable, his heart still pumping blood throughout his unused body. Bitterly, Hinata asks Komaeda what's the point of living if he's only going to do so through far-fetched dreams. 

He sinks to his knees, leaning over the edge of the pod.

He can see the hollows beneath his eyes and the sharpness of his cheekbones. The artificial lights paint him in a pasty green colour. Soft shadows accentuate some of the more gaunt features of Komaeda's face, the awkward angling of the lighting casting him in ominous shadow.

He takes Komaeda's hand in his.

It's frail. Borderline skeletal. It feels like fine china in his hands, and Hinata has to restrain himself from giving it a squeeze out of fear that Komaeda will come undone in his hand.

"I need you," he whispers.

Hinata hangs his head. 

The console beeps his unspoken reply.

_Sequence failed. Retry?_

  
_NUMBER OF FAILED ATTEMPTS: ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FOUR._

Maybe he should stop trying.

Maybe this is all a waste of time.

Maybe Komaeda is forever lost to his head.

  
He slaves over code. Souda idles over his shoulder, curious eyes dancing across lines of ones and zeroes.

He presses enter. The walls of black and green promptly dissipate, and to replace it stands the ever-stoic Alter Ego. His appearance is largely unchanged. He is still clad in his sharp two-piece suit, slacks and blazer pressed into proper perfection. His face is still a carbon copy of Hinata's, though the AI's face is free of the wrinkles and bags that defame Hinata's. 

He's wearing himself thin worrying about Komaeda. He blinks a few times, and etched into his eyelids are the same walls of binary that had faced him mere seconds ago. 

"What did you do to it?" Souda asks, waving his hand in front of the monitor that displays Alter Ego. Impassive eyes trail Souda's every movement with deadly precision. He retracts his hand the moment he realizes how keen the observer's gaze is. 

Clearly off-put, he tacks on, "Why does it… look like you?"

Countless potential answers to the latter bubble up, but he lets them all fizzle away with a shrug. 

Instead, he turns his attention to the first question.

"Just a few optimizations here and there. Quality of life changes. I'm tired of hearing it fail, so hopefully I've enhanced it enough to boost my chances." The remainder of the truth hangs off the tip of his tongue. It coats his mind in a layer of thick slime. What he's done is morally wrong, but his sense of what constitutes right and wrong left him somewhere around the fiftieth failure. 

Souda is humming his wonderment. "I see… hey, can you only talk to this thing through the keyboard, or does it respond to voice?"

"Command can be received through either the console or through the operator's diction. I can respond through either medium as well."

Souda is still humming, amazed by the technology. Blood red eyes stay boredly transfixed on Souda's figure, though Hinata can still feel them burning into his own skull as if to say _I know what you've done._

He tries not to cower beneath the familiar face.

This was necessary.

Anything to see Komaeda again.

  
Hinata halts in his pacing when the doors open, the unsettling artificial lighting of the hub being drowned out by the warmth of the outside world. He turns around, and there stands Sonia and Koizumi, expressions of concern smearing their features.

Koizumi marches over to him and takes him by the hand, dragging him away from Komaeda's pod. She says nothing to him, and Hinata already knows what lies behind those pursed lips. 

"Alter Ego," he shouts into the silence of the hub, "Automate psychoretrival functions. Stop at nothing."

"Of course," replies his own voice, distant.

He feels Koizumi's grip on his wrist tighten, and he sighs, letting her drag him out of the room and into the world outside. 

The air is fresh. It stuns Hinata, being able to breathe in air that isn't doused in synthetica. 

Sonia looks at him, a hint of sadness befalling her graceful features.

"We miss you, Hinata-san. Come home."

He isn't as stubborn as Komaeda. 

He smiles and nods.

Together, they walk back to the first island. The two women spend the entire walk chatting his ears off about odd islander tales and sunny days full of laughter and warmth. They insist he needs to shower after not doing so for weeks (he doesn't have the heart to tell them that they're wrong about that; he actually sneaks back to his cottage during the night), and he indulges them. 

Warm water soothes away the dull ache in his legs. Briefly, he contemplates standing under the showerhead until the water runs cold, but he doesn't want to upset the girls more than he already has.

Koizumi cuts his hair back into the choppy style they once knew him to have. It was starting to tickle his shoulders, his bangs sometimes obstructing his vision. He thanks her, though his gratitude is hastily replaced by annoyance as Koizumi snaps a photo of him, her lips pulled into a wide grin. She hands the picture off to Sonia, who snickers and pulls a pen from her pocket.

Hinata snatches the photo from Sonia, drinking in the caption with a wry smile.

_Pyschodive sequence success! Hinata Hajime has been recovered!_

  
_NUMBER OF FAILED ATTEMPTS: ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY-TWO._

For but a moment, pale green eyes flutter open. His world is doused with lime and blue, the unforgiving lights harsh on unjust eyes. He wonders why he's so cold, why his body is so heavy and his mind is laden with the gauze of sleep.

He figures this must be an odd dream. Tired eyes clamp shut again, and he falls back into the endless sea of black.

  
"You ever thought about making him a prosthetic?" 

"I'd be a liar if I said I haven't."

"What if we designed one together?"

Hinata smiles. 

"I'd like that."

  
Hinata thanks Kamukura.

He wouldn't have been able to find the backdoor in Alter Ego's system if it weren't for his impeccable talent. 

He leans back in his chair, watching the monitor connected to Komaeda's pod light up with the workings of his imagination. Alter Ego's own display is blank, the AI off trying to retrieve him from the sunny world laid out in his head.

He still feels a twang of guilt for going around the patient privacy protocols, but the amount of joy he receives from seeing Komaeda's face is enough to wash away the ooze. 

Komaeda, alive with the joys of everyday life. Komaeda, running down the street with a piece of toast in his mouth and three bottles of ramune tucked away in his backpack. Komaeda, giggling as he walks alongside Kuzuryuu and Souda, sipping on their drinks as they enter the grand gates of Hope's Peak Academy.

His pale hair glimmers in the sunlight.

Hinata promises to sunbathe on the beach with Komaeda some day. 

Just so he can see for himself how the sun fills him with boundless warmth.

  
Souda has started visiting him often. Sonia comes around more often, too.

He's always careful to leave the monitor blank whenever they come around. The guilt of his selfishness would undoubtedly overwhelm him if they came to learn what had done.

Their visits are always nice. They are welcome breaks from hours of reading files and diagnostics. 

Souda always laughs with him and comes bearing armfuls of sketch paper and junk food. They muse over prosthetic concepts through mouthfuls of chips and glugs of soda. 

Sonia always comes with real food and a genuine curiosity as to what, exactly, he does for Komaeda. He's learned to indulge her in her inquisitions. She knows where the boundaries lie, her mind sharp enough to piece together the puzzles Hinata is still too hesitant to relent.

Sometimes, they show up together. The three of them spend the stretch of those visits wandering around the second island together, all smiles and laughs as they run from the library to the diner. 

Sometimes, they go down to the private beach together, wading in the tide in rolled up pants. The sun kisses his skin, tempting him into resuming his everyday life as normal. 

His mind drifts back to a simpler time full of sunny blue skies and Komaeda at his side, watching the waves crash against the golden shore.

Things won't be normal until he's back.

He promises Komaeda an evening at the beach.

  
"I promised I'd get you back. I…"

Broken sobs fall upon deaf ears. 

"I don't know if I could live with myself if I broke my promises."

  
_NUMBER OF FAILED ATTEMPTS: TWO HUNDRED AND TWELVE_

He dreams of a mysterious man with kind hazel eyes and a face hardened by the world. He wants to reach out and take his face in his hands, press a soft kiss to those frowning lips and whisper sweet nothings into his red-tipped ears. 

His heart flutters a bit at the thought. He wonders why the face is so familiar.

Before he can further explore the mystery of the brunet, he hears a gentle knock at his door. 

He has to start his day. He swings his legs over the side of his bed and stretches, hazy memories of the familiar face falling away in tandem with the remnants of his exhaustion.

  
Hinata wonders why he hasn't seen himself in Komaeda's imagination.

Bitter memories of the fourth trial flicker through his head. Komaeda has no time for a talentless nobody, and Hinata would fit that exact distasteful position within this comatic world.

It strikes him, then, the reason Alter Ego looks like himself. He's still resentful of Komaeda and his endless list of misdeeds.

He loves and misses him all the same. 

  
He slams his hand against the glass.

He slams his hand against the glass.

Angry tears roll down his cheeks. Komaeda still lies dormant, blissfully unaware of the sorrow twisting itself in Hinata's heart.

He slams his hand against the glass.

"I need you."

_Sequence failed. Retry?_

  
Hinata switches out the bandages on Enoshima's rotting arm. The video feed overhead is still running with live replay of Komaeda's subconscious. 

He finds it weird, manipulating Komaeda's sleeping form while he watches his face light up with smiles, unaffected by the reality of his touches. 

Though… this arm isn't his. Perhaps all of the neural connections have been severed, and Komaeda simply can't feel his touch because his body can't register it. 

Licking his lips, finishes wrapping up the gnarly arm and sets it back down. He shuffles closer to Komaeda's face and extends a shaky hand to his pale face, cupping his cheek and swiping his thumb across the chilled skin. 

He hears Komaeda gasp. Hinata nearly topples into the pod.

Mismatched eyes burn with desire. They flicker up to the monitor, and there stands Komaeda Nagito, his green-grey eyes wide and lips parted in his stupefied daze. He can feel his touch, feel the whispers of his fingers along his sharp features. 

Hinata can't stop himself from crying. He's so close, yet so far.

All he wants is to be able to take his face in his and press a soft kiss to those frowning lips. He can see the gears churning in the pale boy's head as he tries to unravel the mystery behind the phantom touch. All he wants is to reach out to him and answer all of his questions, tell him of everything he's missed and the things yet to come.

The dead space between is too thick. Hinata can't pierce the veil.

He lets his hand fall away from Komaeda's face with a long sigh, his mind ablaze with daydreams of a future together.

He doesn't see as Komaeda wipes the phantom tears from his face.

  
Quiet days in the hub have slowly become rare occurrences. Hinata is grateful. The frequent presence of Souda and Sonia has made him feel whole, like an actual person again.

Calloused fingers drum against faded keys in contemplation before finally spelling out a command. 

_> ADMIN: Initiate psychodive sequence._

_ADMIN has selected INITIATE PYSCHODIVE SEQUENCE. Please press the ENTER key to confirm this is the command you wish to execute._

He presses enter, and the popup windows are replaced by Alter Ego. The intimidating nature of the AI's dead stare has long since worn off.

"How many attempts are you at?" asks Souda from somewhere to his right. Hinata winces at the question. The familiar chill of failure settles into his skin as his own voice answers.

"Two-hundred and thirty-seven failed attempts have been made."

Souda sucks his teeth, "Sorry."

Hinata sighs, dismissively waving his hand at Alter Ego. The AI nods and dissolves from the screen, the monitor an empty void of white as it ventures off yet again in attempts to reach Komaeda. 

"It's fine. It's just… hard," says Hinata, standing from his chair and joining Souda on the floor amidst a mess of blueprints. He casts a glance back at Komaeda from over his shoulder, his heart sinking a bit at the monitor's blank display. "Do you think he would even want the arm?"

"Oi, Hinata, what are you getting at with that? Don't tell me you wanna back down now," Souda frowns, setting down his pencil and leaning back on his palms, "It's nearly ready for prototyping. I'd really hate for all of this time to have been wasted just because you're being all depressive and shit…"

Hinata blinks. "Huh?"

"I mean… like, why wouldn't he like it? Anything would be better than having that arm attached to him, and I think a prosthetic would get him all high on hope again. He'd probably be all like…"

Somewhat bemused, Hinata watches as Souda sits up straighter and presses a dramatic hand to his forehead whilst the other clutches at his chest. He pitches his voice down a few octaves, injecting a breathy quality that makes his voice reminiscent of an athsmatic dog.

"Oh, Hinata-kun, thank you soooo much for this arm! What hope I have now that I have such a despairful limb off of me! This prosthetic is a symbol of new beginnings, of moving on from a life full of despair and into a life full of hope! Hinata-kun, you truly are my hero!"

Souda is grinning, his shark-toothed smile growing impossibly wider when Hinata bursts out in laughter. Despite the ridiculousness of the impression, Hinata finds that there is a bit of merit to his words. If the snowy boy ends up being anything like Kuzuryuu, he would call on Hinata's help for removal as soon as possible.

"You seriously want him to be like that? I remember you have your own gripes with his hopeful ramblings," Hinata teases. 

Something in Souda's face changes. "Hey, I'd rather sit through one of those lectures than see him hooked up to all those machines."

Hinata opens his mouth to speak, but before he can get a word out, Alter Ego's voice floods the room.

"Psychodive sequence has failed. However, change in the patient's condition has been detected. Automatically retrying in 60 seconds."

A strangled cry is ripped from Hinata's throat.

  
_> ADMIN: Alter Ego?_

_> ALTEREGO: Yes?_

_> ADMIN: Reduce it all to ashes. Leave everything in shambles._

_> ALTEREGO: Of course._

  
Sonia stops by three times a day with meals. Hanamura tapes encouraging sticky notes to the top of each bento box; Hinata has taken to attaching them to his computer screens and reading them over whenever he feels his hope waiver.

Souda has busied himself with travelling back and forth from the warehouse and Electric Avenue now that they're in the home stretch. It's only a matter of time until Alter Ego finally bails Komaeda out of his imaginary imprisonment. It's only a matter of time until Komaeda has to deal with a dead arm on top of the weight of his sins.

Tsumiki stops by once a day to help oversee Komaeda's vitals, comparing past patterns of weakness to current erratic fluctuations. She gives him advice, warns him of what to expect when he wakes up, especially with his long list of pre-existing medical complications. Together, they devise an extensive care plan for Komaeda.

Amputation is mentioned. A date is set.

Hinata doesn't sleep. Hasn't slept in the three days since the horizon gleamed with hope.

He's been amped up on caffeine, running through every potential outcome of every situation through his head a thousand times over. He does his best to evade sleep, only taking cat naps when either Tsumiki or Sonia are present so that they can wake him in case of change of Komaeda's condition. 

He's suffocating. The silence of the hub haunts him, the steady hum of machinery reminding him that Komaeda is still liable to slipping through his fingers.

How shameful it would be, setting everything up, only to watch it fall apart.

  
_"I did not anticipate you to show up so soon."_

That face. That voice. Those eyes.

His eyes are red instead of hazel. His face is free of the etchings of age and hardship, instead smoothed over into a mask of artificial calm. His voice is monotone, free of any emotion that he would've assumed it to have.

The familiar stranger of his dreams has manifested before him, oozing with danger instead of the golden nectar of nostalgia. 

Even still, he wants to reach out, take the stranger's face in his hands and peer into those unforgiving eyes in search of understanding. He is doused in the shadow of mystery, and all he wants to do is uncover the secrecy that lies within him.

The live feed is on, but it is muted. Komaeda stands opposite of Alter Ego, seemingly unphased by the presence of the intrusive AI.

Hinata has always admired Komaeda's innate sense of courage.

The console beeps. 

The monitor display fades to white.

In the silence, Hinata whispers,

"It's about time you came home."

  
_ALL ASSIGNED TASKS EXECUTED SUCCESSFULLY._

  
Grey-green eyes slowly blink open, burning from months of inactivity. The harsh artificial glow surrounding him causes them to narrow to slits, squinting through clingy remnants of slumber.

That same face appears above him now. The stranger from his dreams.

One eye is the impassive red of the intruder, the other the warm hazel of the boyish figure he once knew. His face is coloured with concern, flickers of deeper emotion licking up mismatched irises.

"Hey, can you hear me?"

His voice is warm, alive with emotion and riddled with destitution. It's nothing like the voice of Alter Ego, who loomed so menacingly before him. His voice was sharp despite carrying the same punch as a dull knife. The stranger's voice crawls with humanity, though there is still a slight edge of artificiality to his every word.

He blinks. Slowly, like a trickling faucet, fuzzy memories begin to fill in the blanks.

"Ah… Kamukura Izuru?"

The boy tilts his head, brown bangs falling slightly with the quizzical motion. 

He realizes his mistake and chuckles dryly in spite of himself. He reaches out his left hand, wondering why it feels so much heavier than his right. 

"No, you're Hinata Hajime, right?"

The stranger (Kamukura? Hinata?) offers him a small smile as he takes his hand. It's rough, calloused from an unkind life. 

"They're both me."

Komaeda's eyes glimmer with gratitude. He wonders if he'll ever be able to repay him.

"Thank you for everything, Alter Ego."

"Of course." There is a long pause.

"Best of luck with Komaeda Nagito, Hinata Hajime. Your dedication to his care has been absolutely exemplary."

Hinata smiles, his cheeks splashed with soft reds.

He'll keep his promises. He'll show Komaeda the wonderment of the real world. He'll take his hand and guide him through the treacherous path of recovery. He'll do everything within his power to ensure Komaeda ends up _okay_ at the end of the unforgiving day.

Hinata loves him. He'd have waited a thousand years more for Komaeda to rouse from his coma. 

"Of course," he replies, "It's simply within my nature to care."

**Author's Note:**

> thank u 4 reading!  
> not my best work, written over two late nights while dead tired and super rusty so maybe you can tell LOL but i hope you enjoyed regardless ^_^ <333


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